


Seven Dates In Seven Days

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Comedy, Complete, Dating, Golf, Multi, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-12 17:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Scotty has decided he's ready for love, and he's going to find it in a week. Follow his dating misadventures!





	1. Date One: Anya

Today was the day of his new destiny. Scotty Kirkland was certain he was going to find love. He took a full week off from his busy carpenter job just for this purpose. So sure he might succeed on the first date, The proud redhead treated his mighty beard with scented oil. There was banging on the bathroom door.

“Scotty! Hurry up! I gotta shit!” Alfred demanded. The very American roommate was not known for his politeness. Regardless, they were good friends that met through a construction job.

“Keep yer pants on. I'm gettin' pretty for the ladies.” Scotty dismissed.

“HURRY UP!”

With a huff, the Scotsman moved his beauty regime to his bedroom. He had to pick out a nice date shirt anyway. In pants and passable leather shoes, he flipped between a green shirt and a very green shirt. Taking both of them out to the tiny common area, Scotty cleared his throat to speak.

“Nope.” Alfred answered the question prematurely, can of beer in hand on the sofa.

“I dunnae ask a question yet!” the redhead objected hotly.

“Both shirts will make you look like a 1970's leprechaun.” The golden blonde clarified himself, putting his feet.

“A leprechaun! A LEPRECHAUN! I'm so offended by ye!” Scotty complained, tossing both ruffled shirts on the coffee table.

“I'm offended by _you_. You know what? I'm gonna rescue you from yourself.” Alfred played hero like he loved to do. Setting down the beer on top of the dated shirts, he let himself into Scotty's room. Clothes were flung out of the closet as Alfred talked on.

“Too old... too tweed... too gingham... too whatever this is.”

“That's horse hair, that cost me money!” Scotty objected, grabbing the brown blazer off the floor.

“It's like... dirty moss. Chicks don't dig dirty moss.” Alfred tossed a boring office shirt and a sweater vest at Scotty who barely caught it. “You look like a real life garden gnome. If you're gonna score, you need to play the daddy card.”

The redhead stood there, utterly confused. “What?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “The daddy card. You look safe and friendly. Chicks dig it. Like three dates later... bam, sex.”

“Yer an animal. I'm in it fer love.” Scotty objected, disgusted.

“Sex... Love... it's all relative.” Alfred shrugged, leaving the room. What a man child. Still, the American wasn't wrong. Alfred got laid at least once a week after all. Between his boyish charms and his youth, Scotty's roommate was proof there was competition.

At thirty five years old, Scotty was not exactly the height of fitness. He wasn't all that tall to begin with either. Glancing at the shirt and sweater vest, the man conceded fashion defeat.

00000

Scotty wasn't sure why he was nervous. This was his first time getting dates from online, but people probably didn't lie about pictures... probably. Sitting at a window seat, he enjoyed the vista of this cafe. It was a quaint little place close to his job, the only thing open after 6 pm. A new hire came around with menus.

The cute thing was a bit on the chubby side with freckles. Her name read 'Madeline' in colourful print. She didn't even get to set the menu's down before Scotty interfered. “No menus lass, I know what I'm orderin'.” he informed kindly.

“Oh, okay. What would that be?” She asked sweetly.

“A number three breakfast with black coffee.”

“Thank you.” She scuttled off, menus in hand.

Scotty was efficiently served coffee and water, all the while glancing at his smart phone. He wasn't all that fond of the thing, but it was required for work. You could also access dating apps and look at pictures. There she was, _Anya_.

The lady took a great picture, even she wasn't smiling. Admittedly, Scotty had picked this date purely on a photo. She just had that certain northern beauty about her... and her boobs were _huge_. Scotty didn't want to say he was a shallow guy, but scotch made basic decisions.

The door jingled as Scotty sipped coffee stronger than most. He looked up in anticipation. Ah there she was. Anya. Ash blonde hair in a long braid, framing a pale round face. Inquisitive purple eyes met his, paired with a flat uncertain line of lips. It was obvious the woman was not used to dating, in workers jeans and a long flannel shirt. There was something else about her that was off.

She was a giant. The woman was almost as tall as the door she entered through. Good god, she could probably snap in Scotty in half and eat him as a snack pack. Her breasts were something else though. Huge, glorious... he could do this!

He gave a friendly wave, inviting her to sit. “Hi, the name's Scotty.”

“I am called Anya. I am so happy to be here.” She said this in the flattest tone you could imagine, sharpened by Russian accent. The joy had been rung out of every word with her strong hands probably.

“Not a problem, lassie. Your picture does ye justice.” Scotty replied, trying a rough attempt at diplomacy.

“I'm so glad there is open minded men like you in the world.” Anya was speaking, but Scotty was having a hard time paying attention. She was a head and half taller than him while seated, and this was disconcerting. It was the first time he had to ever look up during a date. This little fact bothered him more than it rightly should. He couldn't help the feeling all the same.

“I dunnae see what the problem is. Two people connectin' should be cherished.” Scotty replied vaguely, having no clue what his date was referring to.

“Some people see 'trans woman' as an obstacle, but I do not see it this way. The mind is what makes you person you are. I am glad you share this view. Now where is waiter? I am so thirsty.” Anya was talking, but Scotty was barely registering the words. He had an inkling 'trans woman' meant transgender, but he wasn't sure. It could also be him hearing things, and she meant 'Tram Woman', like those lassies that sold subway tickets. God please let her sell tram tickets.

Taking her order, dry toast and a boiled egg, she dismissed the waitress coldly. That was rude, since the new hire was super cute. “I am on strict body building diet. Do not mind my dietary choices friend.” Anya explained easily.

“It's fine. No judgment here. I'll be right back, just a sec.” Scotty fled quickly for the bathroom. The second the door was locked in the small space, he frantically texted Alfred.

_What does trans woman mean?_

There was a long moment, then Alfred replied.

_She has a dick bro. Or she had one._

“Shite!” Scotty cursed, then realized where he was. Chicks with dicks were not his style! Apparent Lady Alcohol did not make good decisions on his behalf. Come to think of it, Scotty never read much of Anya's profile. Still, he got himself into this mess. He would be classy, a gentleman even. After all, drunk Scotty had contacted her for this date thing. There _would_ be a date proper.

“Get yerself together Scotty. You survived yer cousin's stag party, you can do this.” He gave a pep talk to his mirror reflection, then took a deep breath. Heading out again, he sat and began eating his breakfast.

The date only went downhill from the start. The two adults had absolutely nothing in common. Anya was a cattle farmer built like a tractor. She was more than pleased to show her great strength, bending a spoon until it resembled a noodle. The display was terrifying. They were done their coffee and food, bill on the table. Scotty grabbed it, ready to pay. It was clear the woman enjoyed the gesture. Scotty mostly wanted get the hell away from this circus of a date.

“Come, I bring you somewhere. My favourite bar. It will be fun.” Anya insisted in thick Russian accent, seeming to have a different impression of things.

Well, a bar wouldn't be terrible. Alcohol Scotty seemed just fine with exploring his personal boundaries. At least he could do shots until he forgot this whole morning. “Sounds fair.”

00000

Vodka and hard bass. Neon bracelets and head splitting sound. Anya was a party animal like no other. One minute a very smashed Scotty was on a table, the next he had fallen on his ass. He couldn't remember how he even got to this dark bar anymore. He didn't feel so good. He wanted to go home.

Pushing through the mobs of drunken dancers, Scotty stumbled into the bathroom. Fumbling with his pants zipper, he managed to take a piss without wrecking his shoes. Barely functioning, he pulled out his phone. It was 2 pm in the afternoon. He hadn't been this fucked up at 2 pm since a decade ago. It hurt. It didn't feel fun anymore.

He tried to dial Alfred's number, but the numbers kept moving around. Scotty gave up and put the phone back in his pocket. He was a right mess. Anya of all people entered the bathroom. “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Were ya?” Scotty slurred, using a wall to help him stand up.

“Yes.” Anya was curt, getting right in Scotty's private space. She looked like she was going to eat him as a light snack. It was even more surprising when she did, in her own way. The ash blonde pinned him to the wall with hungry kisses. They were pleasant and all, but wrong. Everything about this felt wrong, tasting badly of cheap vodka and cherries.

Pushing the romantically aggressive woman away, Scotty sighed. “I cannae do this lass.”

“Why, was it something I said?” Anya was quick to tear up, surprisingly for all her spine snapping charms of before. Crying women, a chivalrous Scotsman's weakness. “Nae, nae, don't cry. I'm just not the man for you. You're beautiful, and strong...” Scotty tried to be sweet, but in truth he was more scared of being crushed in a hug.

“... really?” She asked softly, dabbing big tears with toilet paper.

“You need a fitness guy, not a gnome like me. I'm...” _not into chicks with penises._ She had one damn it, he just felt it on his leg. It was like a goddamn German sausage, and it was not going near Scotty's precious insides.

At his trailing sentences and vague hand gestures, the gigantic blonde sniffled and smiled. “You are right. I am too much big beautiful woman for little Scotsman. I need a man, a strong man, to match my grace.”

At this, Scotty frowned.

She went on, no longer crying. “I am glad I met you. I know what to look for now, and you have shown me. It is so good to learn, yes?”

The man shrugged, not sure what to say. At least his ass wasn't going to be split like a roast pig. “Sure?”

After a soft chuckle, the taller woman of sorts smiled. “I must return you home before you black out.”

“What?” Scotty mumbled, holding onto the sink to support. He was tossed over a burly lady shoulder, weighing nothing to Anya. It was a bizarre truck ride home. Scotty felt even smaller in the massive truck, having to climb into the thing. It only made sense, Anya had picked a vehicle for her height.

Arriving at the apartment, Scotty had to be helped to the door. It wasn't his fault, the ground kept moving around. It was like a bloody ocean up here. Knocking loudly on door, he called out. “Alfie! Alf! Alfreddie! Come answer the feckin' door!”

“What the _fuck_ are you going on about?” Alfred was heard cursing as he approached. “I was napping and you – Oh... hey. Who's this?” The American idiot smirked flirtatiously upon the door.

Anya gracelessly dumped her drunk date, batting eyelashes at him demurely. “Anya.”

Alfred never failed to surprise Scotty with what he was willing to flirt with. “You look lean girl, what do you bench press? A truck?”

The ash blonde woman giggled. “A girl doesn't say until the second date.”

“You disgust me. She's still on a date with me for mercies sake.” Scotty muttered, managing to stand.

Alfred totally ignored him, oozing warm southern charm. “How about a fine lady like you comes work out with me at the Olympus National Gym? My treat?”

“I'll have to think about it, mysterious stranger.” The affection was sickening between them. Scotty rolled his eyes and went to bed. He didn't need this shit. Date one was a total disaster. The poor redhead could only hope blind date number two was less of a train wreck.


	2. Date Two: Francine

Day two and fresh start. It was well into the afternoon, and Scotty was finally over a titanic hangover. He was supposed to meet up with a former super model for brunch, but he had it moved to dinner. Scotty didn't want to upchuck his food in public. Best he waited for all this shitty vodka to leave his system.

Finally functional enough to move around and clean things up, Scotty was elated. The redhead repeated the same rituals as yesterday. Hair was jelled in place slightly. His beard was meticulously groomed. The ever safe sweater vest look was repeated, with a hint of green and brown. He looked downright domestic, and that was a good thing. He was looking for wife material after all.

Exiting the bedroom looking mighty fine, a sneer was heard. “Hey garden gnome. Still doing this seven dates thing?”

It was only Alfred today, in a basketball jersey and boxers. He was eating chocolate protein powder infused milk on a heaping bowl of Lucky Charms cereal. A real role model of fitness. The best friend was also a thorn in Scotty's side. Any date he brought home had a huge probability of being stolen away by the horny roommate.

“ _Yes_ I am. Ye aren't stealing this next one. She's a former model and shes a bit older. Off limits.” The shorter man threatened, still annoyed at the charismatic bastard before him.

“Okay... Okay, bros before hoes. The only thing I'll be stealing is your lucky charms.”

“I AM NOT A LEPRECHAUN YE LITTLE BASTARD.” Scotty fumed, so done with the stupid cereal jokes.

Alfred cocked his head, flashing a Hollywood smile. “You love me, big red.”

Scotty glared at his childish roommate, then looked away. “Don't eat all my cereal while I'm gone.”

“Okay... leprechaun.” Always had to squeeze one more word in. He was rewarded for this cheap shot by having an empty beer can whipped at his head.

00000

Second date, new chance at love. Scotty was in the same place as last time. He was just treating the whole thing as a re-do to be honest. After screening the rest of his dates for being cross-dressers or something else bizarre, he was finally ready to progress. All of the profiles probably needed to be read anyway.

Francine was the lady of the day. A former model and current fashion designer, she looked downright sultry in her pictures. All thirty of them. That was certainly a sign, though of what, he was unsure. Possibility of insanity, though all women were crazy. That was part of the magic, really.

She entered the diner. The beautiful woman might have well had birdsong following her. Her hair was like gold, flowing in tresses. Her eyes glittered with laughter as she approached. She was probably a witch, because she already had cast a spell on him.

Francine's silky blue dress fluttered as she sat. “You look just like your picture. How refreshing.”

“Why wouldn't I?” Scotty sighed, entranced.

She gave a sweet smile, one that could slay a hundred men's hearts. “And you're so funny too. What are the specials here? I do hope they have a good selection of wines to sample.”

Between her french accent and her unearthly beauty, the scorn of her sarcastic words was all but erased. Still, there was something there. Something... judgmental about her? Before Scotty could so much as name this suspicion, Francine did a dazzling hair flip and giggled. He instantly forgot what he was worried about.

The meal was lovely, even if Francine barely touched her food. She said it was lovely, so Scotty took her word for it. Time was barely noticed as they talked, well... mostly she talked, about herself. Her voice was like liquid honey, clear and sweet. The time came for the bill, and Scotty looked to Francine. She looked back dutifully, waiting.

It occurred to the redhead he was expected to pay the bill. He was going to do it anyway, but this pressure to do so was uncomfortable. It was a bad feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it. Francine seemed so wonderful, he was probably projecting bad shit from other dates. His wallet was taking another hit it seemed.

The summer weather was gorgeous, the setting sun painting a rainbow of colours across the city landscape. It all made Francine seem so divine, light by golden rays. He hadn't a word in edgewise so far, but that was okay. He could probably talk later.

“I was thinking, you and me could go to La Pomme d' Éve. Sip some pinot noir to smooth jazz.” As the vixen blonde spoke, she slid a hand up Scotty's arm. He temporarily forget how to speak, a mumbled 'yes' about to slip from his lips. Reality gripped him by the coin purse, stopping the word.

La Pomme d' Éve was a very posh bar on the opposite side of town. The wine bottles started at almost eighty dollars, and that was the cheap toilet cleaner shit. If that rave club had hurt Scotty's monthly budget, this fancy bar would burn it to the ground. It was so hard to say no looking into those ocean blue eyes, but it had to be done.

Morally weakened by this temptress, Scotty lied his ass off instead. “I can't have a drop to drink lassie. You see... I'm staying alert, for a friend. He has troubles.”

Her expression softened in sympathy. “An alcoholic friend? That is so noble of you, so brave, so...” She leaned in close, smelling of soft summer flowers. It was a crime how attractive she was. “... _chivalrous_ to be supportive of another. If only I could show you how I feel about such virtues.”

Feeling her hands hold his, Scotty's heart was ready to jump out of his chest from excitement. It was an understatement to say he didn't get this much attention normally. “My place is two blocks from here.” he blurted out, mind racing.

“Sounds like a plan.” she cooed, looping her arm into his. Dazed and happy, Scotty led the way. Sweet nothings and bare whispers between them assured the possibility of getting laid along the way. Feeling brazen and eager, Scotty was ready to damn near kick the apartment door down if that's what it took to make things happen. It had been a long time since the proud Scotsman had participated in such exercise.

Entering the apartment, The couple chuckled at some joke Scotty barely remembered from the diner. Alfred was at home, doing whatever an Alfred does. Today that was watching Jurassic World and hugging a pillow of Macho Man Randy Savage. He glanced at Scotty, then drifted his gaze to the desirable Francine. His blue eyes went cold with anger.

“You _bitch_.” Alfred hissed in rage, throwing aside his cuddle pillow.

Francine's ethereal charms drained in an instant, confusing a spellbound Scotty. “ _You_.” Francine growled back.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO ENTER THIS SACRED PLACE YOU DIRTY WHORE!” Alfred rarely exploded in fiery anger, akin to a friendly dog. Seeing him like this was so strange and terrifying.

“YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HALF THOSE WORDS MEAN, PEASANT!” Francine screamed right back, bristling like a drawer full of knives.

Just like that, the two hurled themselves at each other in battle. A slurry of French, Spanish, and English curses accompanied clawing, biting, and kicking. They were fighting like two angry cats, with no rules or common courtesy. After a moment of shock, Scotty saw his favourite coffee mug crash into a wall and shatter. Goddamn it.

Wading into the death match, Scotty pulled the two apart. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don't need this pig near my beautiful face. I'm done with this.” Francine snubbed the room, grabbing her purse. She dabbed her bloody nose as she stormed out. The door was slammed shut dramatically.

With raised brows, Scotty looked to his roommate. “What did ye do?”

Alfred, looking rather scratched up, blushed beneath his freckles. “Nothin'. I did nothin'.” After a few minutes of accusatory staring, the blonde idiot mumbled “Fine. I did... something.”

“Oh me lord. You stuffed her too.” Scotty groaned, sinking into his worn leather reclining chair. He dragged a hand through he hair and looked back on exasperation. “Do ye not have control Alfred?”

“I'm a fitness trainer Scotty. I train hot people in gyms. I'm bound to bump into a few of them, but she was a client.” Alfred explained, pausing the movie. He then resumed cuddling his wrestler pillow while lounging.

“Yer not supposed to have sex with clients.”

“I _know_ that. I said no, a lot. But she was _Francine_.” Alfred defended himself, and Scotty dropped his sharp interrogation. He understood the impulsive young man's problems. After all, the redhead was helplessly trapped by Francine's charms until she started clawing Alfred's face.

“So... I decided to fuck her, at the risk of my own job. I woke up handcuffed to the bed. She took my wallet. My credit card was cleaned out.” Finished speaking, Alfred hit his shame in the cuddle pillow.

The story was actually rather sad. Scotty offered a smile. “She sounds like a bitch.”

“She is.” Alfred sulked.

With date number two as awful as date one, the Scotsman sighed. Another day, another date. Why was love so hard to find? “Let's watch yer lizard show.” he prompted, pressing the play button. Dinosaurs chasing down park guests resumed.


	3. Date Three: Amelia

It was Wednesday, but there was no third date. Not anymore. There was only despair and staring at the ceiling. Oh stippled plaster ceiling, it didn't have the same problems as man. A lump on the bed since early morning, Scotty had yet to move or bathe.

Alfred was heard coming back from work, a jingle of keys and misplaced song lyrics. Humming noisily, he went into Scotty's room and began rooting through the bus change jar. It was technically _their_ change jar. Alfred took conquests home so often that the wary Scotsman locked up anything of value in his room.

Like the observant creature he was, Alfred didn't notice Scotty until he moved under the covers. “Oh, hey you. I thought you were on a lunch date.”

“Nay.” Scotty grunted simply, pushing his phone lazily at the blonde. It displayed the rather cutting text message he had been sent.

Alfred sat at mattress edge and read it in his still gloved hands. His expression changed from jovial to pissed in seconds. “Dude, bro, this message is bullshit. You don't look old or fat, or lame. The person that sent this is a bitch.”

“Hmm.” Scotty hummed noncommittally, wallowing in his own depression.

“Dating is all about rejection. You just gotta get up and try again. Just because one ass hole cancels on you, doesn't mean you give up.” said the younger more charming man. Alfred was an eligible fit specimen with ten less years than Scotty. The bearded redhead was just a dried up fat turd, according to pretty women. What was the point in getting up?

“So you need a new date huh?” Alfred went on, carrying a conversation by himself. Scotty peeked out from under the blankets, seeing Alfred scrolling his list of contacts... and scrolling... and scrolling. He took a solid three minutes to make it to the bottom. How many people did he know?

“You like golf so... you _sure_ you won't dig guys or in-between types? I know a bunch of folks like that, that like golf.” Alfred offered with serious expression.

“I want a _woman_. Me arse is not the menu.” Scotty grumbled irritably.

“What about this one? Hot, right?” Alfred showed a group picture from some bar, pointing to a cute blonde girl in the middle. Whoever she was, she was hot indeed.

“Who's she?” Scotty asked curiously. There was something about her pert little nose and blue eyes that was startlingly familiar.

“That's my twin sister Amelia... well. He used to be my brother Allen, but she finished transitioning like... nine years ago. She's all done if that's what worries you.” As Alfred talked, Scotty seriously considered the possibility. Amelia was clearly adorable, and definitely had everything going on. Still, this was his best friend's sister. He had to be kind and gentle with such an offer.

“Are... ye sure? This is your sister, I dunnae want to overstep boundaries.” he asked cautiously, looking up to scan for negative reaction. He sensed none.

“Dude, I trust you. Besides, if you try anything funny, she'll let me know.” There was the slightest hint of threat in Alfred's words, but he seemed genuine. The sunny fella really did trust Scotty with one of his kin.

“So... Do I call her, or do you?” the redhead asked, sitting up finally.

“I'll set it up at the East Wood. Amelia has a membership there so it'll be easier. You go get ridiculous with your ugly ass golf clothes, 'kay?” Alfred dismissed him flippatly, walking out of the room with one eye on his phone. He texted like a fiend as he left.

Allowing himself to smile for the first time all day, the stocky man finally headed off to shower. A slight fluttering of hope was in his heart again. Hey, golfing would be fun too.

00000

East Wood gold club was just as lovely as Scotty imagined it was. Not wanting to appear poorly, he took a taxi to the gates. It would be pure hell getting all his golf clubs on and off the city bus anyway. Right on time, Alfred's sister appeared from behind grand rod iron gates.

She was essentially a female version of Alfred, as American as a sweet apple. It was attractive but strange, a slippery feeling Scotty didn't dare get to grips with. He still wasn't sure if he had the right to do this at all. With a dimpled Hollywood grin, she let him inside the prestigious club.

“Aww look at you. All ready for tee time. This will be fun!”

She wasn't wrong. The club was elegance and old money. Offered a fine glass of brandy and a cigar, they sat in luxurious lounge chairs by a mantled fireplace. “I hope you don't mind waiting a half hour. There's a lot of people on the course right now.” she explained apologetically.

“I don't mind, with drink this nice.” Scotty assured her. There was no way he could afford five minutes in this place without Amelia, and he was just fine with that. Might as well enjoy this free cigar in absolute refinement. Making several sweet smoke rings, he chuckled to himself. “This date was a good idea.”

Amelia balked, setting down her drink and cigar. Her furrowed expression of confusion said it all. Something was not right. “Excuse me a minute.” she stood with grace, taking her phone. Around the corner, she was just as noisy as her twin brother. Enough bits of conversation filtered over, despite the gentle music in the room.

“Alfie, what the fuck... No I told you... _Yes_ I'm still dating Kiku. I know because you introduced us... You're such a dick friend!” The one sided chatter almost immediately devolved into Spanish curses and arguing. Scotty had so often seen the other side of this interaction on weekends. It was odd to hear the other perspective for once. They sounded so alike it was eerie.

Nope, nope. Scotty couldn't do this. He was not dating a female version of his roommate. About to stand and leave, he was stopped by a returning Amelia. “No, no, no! Don't run off on me! I just need to clarify things.”

Scotty hesitated, then sank back in the chair. It was so comfortable it might as well swallow him whole. “Okay.” he answered with uncertainty.

“First of all, Alfie is an idiot. I'm with someone already. I thought this was a golf date, like... just golfing. Which is his fault because he texts like a drunk.”

Scotty could only nod in agreement. “He does text like a twat.”

It was clear in the speech patterns and mannerisms. Amelia was not entirely like Alfred. She was more weary and less air headed, possibly more mature. If Scotty was a betting man, he would figure she was always covering her twin's ass. Especially in situations like these, it seemed.

“If you want to go that's fine, but I still have time reserved for the course. It sucks to play alone.”

Her words carried a ring of truth to them. It was unpleasant to not have people you could golf with. This wasn't the most social sport, but it wasn't meant for isolation. Scratching his beard in thought, Scotty smiled. “You do have a point there lass. It would be a shame to not play a nice course.”

“This brandy needs drinking, am I right?” she prompted in return, little stress lines on her face relaxing again.

“It does, it does.” he agreed genially.

“So, you're trying the burning garbage fire that is dating?”

“You have no idea the shite I've been through...” Scotty began in earnest, happy to talk to someone. Drinks were enjoyed, cigars were smoked. The two veterans of romance hell shared stories and laughed. Just like with Alfred, they got along brilliantly in a friendly sort of way.

By the time they could go on the course, the awkwardness of before was gone. Scotty started things off, grabbing his nine iron from Amelia's politely mute golf caddie. The servant silently stood by, with cold drinks in the golf cart.

After much adjusting of posture, Scotty took a few false starts. Finally, he took a hard whack at the little dimpled ball. It went soaring towards the green, well over the serene pond. Honestly, the verdant landscapes here were magnificently maintained.

“Nice shot. She's got some air.” Amelia commented, holding her designer sun hat as she craned upwards to see. Scotty did the same, his traditional scottish hat with pom pom secure. Anywhere else in the world, people would laugh at his argyle sweater and cap. Here, it was entirely normal.

“Thank ye.” he replied, spotting his ball landing far in the distance.

Stepping aside, he let her take her shot. It went far, but too much to the right. On the edge of the throughway, it would be difficult to recover. Still, she might make par if the winds could settle.

Getting in the cart, they were driven along by the caddie. they sipped chilled juice and chatted amicably. Amelia was a vegan, a former environmental protester, now turned investment banker. Her husband was a Japanese business man she met in Tokyo when she was still Allen. Alfred kept everyone's numbers like a hoarder, and absently invited Kiku to Amelia's first birthday as a legally recognized woman. The Japanese trader fell for her incurably. Amelia had been dating him since.

For all Alfred's thoughtlessness, he was kinder than Scotty gave him credit for. Apparently the brash sibling paid for one of Amelia's top surgeries. He was there for a lot of the doctor's visits too.

In all of this lovely conversation, the afternoon slipped away. Soon they were at the ninth hole, with very close scores. Scotty was in the lead with -6, and Amelia had -5. “Watch the master at work.” Scotty teased, taking up posture by his ball.

“Getting cocky there. You still have a hell of a slope on the green.” Amelia pointed out, just as arrogant. It was true though. If Scotty wanted to pull off a birdie and go one under par, he needed very good putting action.

This was it, the defining moment of victory. He took a deep breath, positioned with his putting iron. Nervously, he tested air speed and direction with a finger, and readied himself yet again. He wanted to win more than anything. On instinct and hope, he struck the ball.

It started in earnest, but slowed down noticeably as it went. Oh no, don't run out of steam. Keep going... keeping going... no, no no. It was almost out of momentum, millimetres from the hole. So close. _So close_. Precariously at the edge, the white golf ball was perched. Nearly motionless now, a subtle breeze of fortune finished the job. It fell in. Scotty won now.

There was no way Amelia could catch up. “YES! YES! I AM THE KING!” Scotty hooted in joy. He was an absolute showboat of a winner, and not ashamed of it. Amelia appeared to be the same, taking the obvious loss badly. Regardless she took two more putts to finish up. With Scotty at -7, Amelia wound up at -3.

“Good game. I guess.” Amelia congratulated him through gritted teeth.

“Kick me arse next time, and reclaim your record.” Scotty countered with a cheeky grin.

“I _will_ you red haired bastard.” Amelia promised sincerely, staring to calm down from her defeat. After a moment, her expression softened. “... and don't give up on dating yet. I'm sure there's a girl for you out there somewhere.”

Scotty looked up in surprise at the consoling words. “I'll try not ta.” He wouldn't either. The determined man would not be put off so easily. There was some one to love out there. He deserved to be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a golf expert. If you see improper terminology use or score keeping, let me know.


	4. Date Four: Not Fun

Waking up was not a graceful process for most. It was less so for Scotty. He had been ripped from a pleasant dream of companionship and warmth. Opening a bleary eye, he sighed. His dream was just a mist that dissipated to empty bedside. It was only him, alone under soft covers. A cold pitiful feeling wriggled in his heart. God, Scotty needed a woman something bad. He finally turned off the screeching alarm and went about his routine. Washing, dressing, eating... All a precursor to another date.

The Scotsman was honestly exhausted on a social level. He mostly wanted to spend the rest of his week off relaxing. It was impossible to arrange dates around his busy work schedule, so this was the only time he had. If he couldn't find possible girlfriend material in the next four dates, he wouldn't have another real chance for months.

Exhausted and done with the process, the redhead prepared himself regardless. Too lazy to cook, he watched golf on television while crunching dry cereal. Alfred had been an ass and drained all the milk again. During a long commercial break, Scotty glanced at that stupid cuddle pillow on the couch. The Macho Man Randy Savage pillow was Alfred's prized possession. He hugged it tightly in his sleep when he didn't have sexy times going on.

Poor fella probably had problems, being that attached to a pillow. What was so great about it? Finishing the dry cereal, Scotty set the bowl down. Leaning over, he grabbed the pillow. It was pretty thick foam, but not unpleasant. It was fun to squish in his fingers. Looking around and listening, it was clear he was alone.

Scotty gave the pillow a hug. It was nice and warm. Oh, he understood now. It was basically one quarter as nice as a real hug. Watching the game, Scotty relaxed with the stupid looking cushion. It was nice to do nothing. He nearly drifted off to sleep again, when the front door knob jiggled.

In a panic, Scotty threw the cuddle pillow away and straightened out his shirt. The door opened, Alfred and some lady friend coming in. It took but a second to place her, due to being memorable. In a long turtlenecked sweater dress, Anya was carrying groceries. Alfred carried an arm full himself, kicking the door shut.

“Hey big red. I got food.” Alfred greeted like he always did.

“Hey.” Scotty replied easily.

“Hello little man.” Anya greeted, all smiles.

“I'm not little.”

“You're shorter than both of us. You're little.” Alfred was such an ass, even if he was right. “Are you quitting the love game yet?”

“ _No_ I'm not. There's love for me somewhere.” Scotty grumbled.

With the attention span of a fly, Alfred abandoned putting away the groceries. Anya smirked and shoved everything in the barren fridge while her date chattered energetically. “We went on a date to Crosica's, you know, that fancy sandwich bar. Then we pumped iron at work, oh my god did you know she can do this? Anya, do the thing, you gotta!” the golden blonde was running his mouth fast today.

“If I have to.” Anya pouted, not resisting very much. She held out an arm and bent it in a flexing manner. Alfred then hung off her arm like a monkey, legs off the ground.

“Look! Look! She's not even moving her arm!”

“Neat.” Scotty answered, genuinely impressed. Anya was having no trouble with bearing moving weight of a grown man.

“Look! Look at this!” Alfred started doing pull ups on her arm, grinning like a child. “It's crazy awesome! Are you looking?”

The taller trans woman giggled. “You are excited puppy, Alfred.” With no effort, she scooped him off her arm and tossed him over a shoulder. He resisted, the entire scene devolving to affectionate roughhousing. It wasn't much of a stretch to assume this would proceeding to making out and whatnot.

“Have fun kiddos. I'm off.” Scotty turned off the TV and grabbed his raincoat. The weather was supposed to be absolute crap today, even for summer. It was still better than staying here.

00000

Back at the same diner as usual, Scotty sipped a dark coffee. He was thirty minutes early for his date, but the man didn't mind much. It was better to be here than listening to Alfred's activities. The rain poured outside, casting soft grey light in the diner's interior. Amidst the pattering of rain on glass, Scotty sensed the passing waitress. It was that cute new girl again... Matilda? Marianne? He couldn't honestly recall more than 'Ma–' at the start of her name.

Flagged down with a gesture, the wheaten blond approached with a pot of coffee and smile. _Madeline_. Her name tag read Madeline. “Do you know what you'd like to order?” This was her second time asking. Scotty supposed he had to buy something so he could stay.

“A doughnut. Surprise me. I'd like a newspaper as well, if you have one.” He requested politely.

Topping up his cup, the waitress pushed up her red framed glasses. They framed lilac hued eyes that looked kind. “Of course. I'll get that for you right away.” With pastry and paper in hand, Scotty easily killed the time before his date. If the staff came around again, he could always order another snack. His waistline was already trashed anyway.

Soon it was lunch time. Only five minutes until the date was to start. Anxiously looking from his watch to the pouring rain outside, Scotty was indeed worried. His last date ditched him because it was too inconvenient to cross town. Weather this lousy might be a genuine reason not to arrive.

Five minutes late... Ten minutes late... This was some kind of torture. It had to be Why did people do this? It was maddening. Fifteen minutes late... Madeline stopped by a third time, gesturing to his coffee. “Would you like a top up of that?”

“No... I don't know.” Scotty replied honestly, holding his face on his palms.

There was a moment, then a quiet question from the cute waiter. “Why is that?”

“I dunnae know if you have the time fer a sad story.” the man answered tiredly.

Madeline looked to the rest of the tables. Only one other patron was here, texting between bites of his BLT sandwich. “I think I have the time.”

“Me date is twenty minutes late. I dunnae know if she's coming at all. Yesterday stood me up as well.” Scotty admitted, unable to look his server in the eyes.

“That's a shame...” she hummed sympathetically. Madeline's expression lit up, and she left for presumed duties. Scotty looked at his watch again, returning to staring out the window. He was startled from his brooding when a cookie was placed on the table. It was round and rolled in coconut, perched in a napkin nest.

“On the house, Mr. Blue.” Madeline walked away before Scotty could say a word, astonished. Popping the small cookie in his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. It was sweet with a berry filling. There was a message written on the napkin, 'Smile'. Rather touched by the gesture, Scotty did smile. This seemed important, so he took the time to fold up the note and slide it in his pocket. He looked at his watch again.

His date was thirty minutes late. This was fucking ridiculous. Done with waiting, he stood and grabbed his coat. Taking the bill left on the table, Scotty went to cash to pay for his coffee and doughnut. The door jingled as it opened, the sloshing of wet traffic sounds coming in.

Scotty looked over hopefully, change yet to leave his hands. It was a rail thin blonde woman in the entrance. She had ashen hair the same unique colour as Anya's, but none of the warmth. As she approached, she had the personality of a ice pick. “ _You_.” she growled.

“Are you Emily?” he asked, confused.

The blade of a woman flipped open her raincoat hood, glaring at him with stony blue hate. “You had the nerve to ask my sister on a date, then rejected her. You're a pig!”

“What in blazes ye talking about?”

“Anya! My sister Anya, you idiot!” The lady bristled like an angry cat.

Scotty took a minute, then raised his brows in surprise. “Oh, so yer not Emily.”

“No, I'm not.” the newly discovered sibling spat back.

“I'm sure yer sister is just fine.” Scotty dismissed the stranger, handing the money and bill over to Madeline. 

“Thank you very much.” The somewhat chubby server spoke softly, about to leave for another table.

“Pay attention to me when I'm talking!” Anya's sister commanded cruelly. The stranger shoved Madeline out of the way so they were in direct view again. The possessively childish action irked Scotty's normally happy demeanour, snapping his last thread of patience.

“You listen here brat! Yer sister is fine, and shovin' folks isn't nice! Ye have the manners of a rabies infested dog!” Scotty yelled, wedging himself between the startled waitress and the bitchy lady.

Anya's supposed sister glared, then left without another word. Still a little wound up, Scotty looked back at the waitress. A manager looking type with stern expression had appeared in all the conflict, his expression a hard flat line. “What's all this noise?”

“Nothing Mr. Beilschmidt. An angry customer just left, due to Mr. Blue's assistance.” Madeline explained anxiously, retreating to the safety of the counter.

“Mr. Kirkland, I see.” The older manager shifted his attention Scotty, then back to the employee. “Be nice. He's a regular.” The mysterious Mr. Bielschmidt vanished into the kitchen from whence he came. There was a moment of just the two strangers, stumbling for words at the cash register.

“I dunnae mean to impose.”

“Sorry if I was in the way.”

“I –” The redhead faltered, then chuckled. “Well, I best be goin'. Have a good day lass.” 

“You too.” The waitress answered, slightly pink from bluster. Scotty took a moment to appreciate the living cinnamon roll before him, then left.

00000

Scotty was surprised Alfred was alone when he returned. Slinging a wet coat on the coat rack, boots were kicked off and set aside. Alfred was doing forearm stretches as Scotty plopped in his recliner. “Hey broski. How was the date.” the younger man greeted.

“Shite.” Scotty replied simply.

“Ah. We gotta be quiet. Anya's passed out a room over.” Alfred nearly whispered. It was about as quiet as he could be.

“Her sister is something else.” Scotty muttered darkly.

“Wouldn't know, I haven't met her.”

“Good.” The less people that associated with Anya's sister, the better.


	5. Friday Night Blues

Women that were still married. Women that didn't work. Women that were turned off by his less than mighty height. Scotty had run the gambit this week, and found nothing to fill the hole in his heart. His soul ached, and his wallet was bleeding. Every date, every single disaster run, he had paid for. He wasted a solid week of saved up holidays for this stupid endeavour.

What had the proud Scottish carpenter ever done to deserve so much harsh treatment? Why was Scotty doomed to the single life? He had his fun, explored what he could in earlier years. He was getting older, and he didn't want to explore that journey alone anymore. All he wanted was a wife to hold.

Instead, Scotty was drowning his sorrows in a dive bar. It was technically Saturday now, being roughly two in the morning. The old wooden environment tried to hide it's age like a woman caked in makeup. There was briefly popular band posters over every inch of the walls, a tired stage painted red and black.

“Another.” Scotty slurred, slapping the glossy black bar top for service. A quiet wet trail of shot glasses sat beside him.

“Closing up bud. You gotta go.” the bartender denied him coolly, wiping the counter clean.

“Wha... Where am I supposed ta go?” the red haired drunkard asked, at a loss.

“Home, preferably, but it's none of my business. Can you walk?” the man had obviously had this conversation a million times before, with other sad sacks.

“I dunnae. I'll try.” Scotty wobbled off the vinyl upholstered stool, more sure footed than he expected. He was obviously not sober in appearance, but at least he could function. He looked around with only slight difficulty, hanging onto the stool for balance. It was only him, the bartender, and a half asleep security guy.

“I'll walk home.” Scotty dismissed the bartender's silent offer of a taxi, phone in hand. The freckled Scotsman was already out over two hundred fifty dollars from dates, and sixty from drinking his sorrows away. He really didn't want to pay for a stranger to drive him four blocks.

Maybe walking home _was_ a bad idea. Scotty didn't feel so great, using parked cars and posts of signs to guide him along. In the hollow emptiness of a city at two in the morning, there was only his wet steps in puddles of spring. He did puke his guts out along the way, retching and heaving the poison he just paid for. It was into a public garbage can, so it was fine.

Scotty had been so distraught after the last date, he changed into old clothes. The failed match making mission ended sharply when he was splashed with red wine. Apparently he was a sexist ass for asking if the lady was going to pay for all eight of her drinks. Scotty was done, finished, lonely forever! Pulling built up trash from the week out of a pocket, he found a crumpled napkin.

It had a smiley face, and 'Smile' on it. Where had he... oh, right. That cute waitress! Ma... Mandy? No... Madeline! She was just adorable. It was a shame, since she was obviously taken. The curvy thing had the faint impression of a wedding ring on her finger. She probably took the item off at work so it didn't get grimy.

All the good ones were always taken.

Scotty huffed a sigh, using the old napkin to clean up his face. After, he preened his fluffy beard in the reflection of a tinted car window. Beard care was as important as any other task. After twenty minutes of this, he realized something rather crucial.

He was walking in the wrong damn direction, by at least two blocks. Well, shit. In the far distance was the shine of his favourite diner. He didn't even know it was open this late. How marvellous, he really needed a nice sandwich to fill his now empty gut.

New journey in mind, he took wobbly steps towards his next meal. It took ages, but he made it. Clinging to a street lamp for support, he only had a few metres left to traverse to food haven. His drunk foolish ass finally gave out to complete intoxication. Scotty tripped and fell hard, barely feeling a thing. Hot something leaked out of his concrete bruised face. 

Great. Just great.

He lay there for a time, too lazy to move. A soft voice perked him up from drunken lethargy. “Are you alright Mister?” Scotty rolled over, squinting for the source. All the diner lights were out now, having been turned off. It was that waiter Madeline, and the guy always in the kitchen. The really German sounding one, with more hair gel than charms.

“I'm... not great.” Scotty admitted, sluggishly wiping gravel bits and encrusted nose bleed off his cheek.

“Will there be a problem here?” The manager fellow asked in grave tone, half perched on his bicycle.

“No Mr. Beilschmidt. He's a nice regular, I shouldn't need assistance.” Madeline promised with a dimpled smile, arms fully loaded with plastic bags.

“Very well. Goodnight Miss Williams.” The stern man looked to Scotty with scrutinizing interest, then frowned. Pedalling into the night, it was soon only the two people.

 _Miss Williams_? She had wedding indents on her finger. It was probably a slip of the tongue. “That looks heavy. Ye need help?” Scotty offered, sitting up with great care. Between the nosebleed and the spring mud puddles, he was a mess. She was carrying a lot though.

“You're in no position to help, Mister Blue.” she giggled in response. Christ it was cute sound. “Just stay there while I put these in my car.”

“It's Kirkland.” Scotty called out, watching her walk across the street to a beat up Buick. It had to be at least eight years old, judging from the faded paint. She came back with a purse looking ready to burst. In the way all women did, she magically pulled the one thing she needed from the mess without getting clutter everywhere.

Dabbing his face clean with a disposable wet nap, she paused in her kneeling crouch to look him in the eye. “You've been crying.” she observed quietly.

No one had noticed a damn thing about Scotty all week, consumed by their own lives. It was refreshing, but unexpected, to be noticed. He didn't know what to say, not without sounding like a broken record of depression. The redhead switch topic poorly. “You... you got mud on yer pretty uniform.” he mumbled back, glancing away.

She paused, also lost for words. “I um... need to drop off stuff at home first, but I can give you a ride.”

“That's mighty fine of you. Thank ye.” Scotty agreed heartily, managing to pull himself up with great difficulty. He was such a disaster, his brown slacks splattered with road run off. At least they started brown. Meeting her at the car with well placed steps, he heavily dropped into the front passenger seat. “I'm makin' a bloody mess of yer car Missus Williams.” He moaned to himself, feeling a wet imprint in the cushions already.

“It's... Miss Williams.” She corrected him sombrely, starting the car. It took at least six tries and her muttering under her breath. “Come on you hunk of garbage.”

Finally on their journey, the drive was silent at first. Madeline's words finally sunk into Scotty's alcohol soaked brain. She was indeed single, very very recently. Was she a widow? She had to be, from the pure sadness she spoke in before. “I'm sorry, I assumed you were married.” Scotty apologized, daring a glance at her reaction.

“It's... It's fine. I get that a lot... Where do you live?” She was very anxious to switch topics, tense like wary prey. She was scared, for some reason.

“It's... that way a bit, opposite direction. Just off Janison Avenue.”

A spark of recognition, of commonplace in conversation from her. “Oh, by that statue of the... um... _horse_.”

Finally, someone that understood how shitty abstract art was. The town was desperately trying be be hip and cool, putting up an angular monster of a horse statue last summer. It was the joke of the town, and an easy landmark to reference to. “Yes, the ugly rust thing. You get it!”

She laughed softly at the topic. “It's not even... heads don't go that way.”

“They paid the artist in meth. It's what he took when he made it.” Scotty joked lightly, feeling loose. Alfred didn't think he was funny. Alfred didn't know nothing!

After another peel of delight from the waitress, she contained herself politely. “You're funny.” the mention was so subtle it was barely heard. Scotty blushed, beginning to smile widely. He couldn't help it, the expression just came to him. A slip of the drunken tongue was bound to occur, ruining the moment.

“Yer cute.” he blurted out, eyeing her in his lucid state.

She nearly slammed on the brakes, looking ready to cook from humility. “We're, um, here, I just need to unload the car.” the nervous creature stammered, parking badly. It was fine. There was no one else in the streets to judge. Even this fucked up, Scotty could only watch so long as the cinnamon roll of a person struggle. There was no way she could get the door open with six bags of stuff on her arms. The ground was pure mud, and would be for a while.

Getting out with unsteady movements, he ambled up to her side. “I'll just... take these.” He talked with careful choices of words, carrying her burden. She was jumpy and timid like a rabbit, so caution was needed. The bags weighed nothing to Scotty, used to slinging around wooden beams in construction. Now days he was actually working in a furniture factory, but it was pure carpentry all the same.

“Thank you. Please don't drop them.” She replied, finally free enough to get into her house. It seemed rather large for a single woman. Once more, Scotty was not wrong. The house was dark and largely empty inside. Walls once lined with decorative plates had massive gaps. Dusty outlines showed the removals were recent. A stack of ominous bills sat next to a bowl for keys. There was far too much furniture missing, area rugs still on the floor where china cabinets once perched.

In a sense, the place was lonely.

“Just in here! I'll put them in the fridge after.” Madeline instructed him, leading the way. The kitchen was massive, marble counter tops and brass handles. There was still photos of Madeline on the wall with some strange man. The man's face was blacked out with ink and paint. Suspiciously french looking slurs were over his remaining body in more ink.

Judging from the set up art easels nearby and state of the home, she was an artist. Madeline had just left, or was in the process of a messy divorce. It certainly explained the shadow of a wedding ring on her finger. “A divorce then.” Damn his alcohol loosened tongue!

“... yeah. It's that obvious? I mean, I try not to say anything but...” she rambled, once more abashed.

“A little, but that's okay. I'd rather listen to that than my roommate having loud sex.” Scotty's frank answer brought back a quarter of the joy she expressed in the car.

“Well... Maybe you wouldn't mind sticking around for little... to clear your head?” she offered shyly, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her hair.

Scotty smiled in hope for the human race. “I couldn't say no to a pretty face like that.”


	6. Done.

Dear Readers:

I've completely and totally lost passion for this project. I had the skeleton of an epilogue done up, but it's such poor quality. It would be a crime to force anyone to read it. I'm just going to tell you what I was going to do. That way, you're not in the dark. Scotty (Scotland) was going to move in with Madeline (Canada) and help her heal from her disastrous divorce from Carlos (Cuba). It was going to be super moving and heartfelt, like cotton candy teeth rotting.

Additionally, Alfred (USA) and Anya (Russia, but transgender) were going to get date and get jobs at the same gym. It was going to be fucking adorable. I can't do it though, I just can't. I love you guys, I really do, but I am so _done_ with writing transgendered characters. I got so much heat from commenters on so many social platforms. It was literally worse than when I wrote a story about current day politics. In real life, I totally respect the hell out of transgender folks for doing what they do. You are brave people. Rock on. The bullshit I was hit with for getting one pronoun wrong was insane though. I'm done. I don't care anymore.

So yeah. The story had a happy ending, everyone lives. I hope the entitled assholes of the internet are happy. They just broke the spirit of another human being. For the rest of you lovely people, I am still writing projects and such. I look forward to your future patronage, and I do accept suggestion for future stories in the comments. Please have a good day and fine health.

Sincerely, Julia


End file.
